And I guess to a certain extent, James Franco, because I think after the debacle that was Oscar night, there are many women & men – not that there is anything wrong with that…no of course not (c’mon people it’s a Seinfeld reference, calm down) – who soured on you after your performance. But since this letter is going to focus on my relationship with Anne, I’ll leave you out of it from now on James, mainly because if I mailed you this letter you’d probably just roll it up and smoke it.

But Anne, my beautiful Anne, what the hell were you doing up there? You came off sometimes as a giddy school girl, and sometimes as a ‘too cool for school’ biatch. Yes, stop, I know the opening bit was hilarious, but that really had nothing to do with you. You didn’t write it, it wasn’t live so you had a chance to actually act (which I think you do quite well quite often), as opposed to freelance during the actual awards. But now that I think of it, you didn’t even have to freelance…you were reading from a teleprompter and still managed to make it seem as awkward as someone trying to argue that “Bride Wars” was a good movie.

Speaking of your movies, it’s going to be tougher and tougher to defend your abilities when you continue to churn out crap like that, not to mention “Get Smart.” I first fell in love you in “The Devil Wears Prada,” which I was forced to watch on a plane, because it was either that or reading a book. And since reading is for losers (just kidding, if it wasn’t for reading I wouldn’t be able to write this well or have the 17 people/day visit my blog), I watched you outshine everyone in that overall brutal movie. And that includes Emily Blunt & Meryl Streep. Then I saw your boobs in “Brokeback Mountain” and “Havoc,” and even though the latter was a garbage movie, boobs are my downfall so I was ready to propose.

Then, just a couple of years ago, the pinnacle of our relationship came during “Rachel Getting Married,” because now not only did you have a smoking body, but you also proved you could act. Now maybe when I rent “Love & Other Drugs” (speaking of which, I get to see you naked again, right?) you’ll reignite the passion in our one-way relationship. Because after last night babe, I think I’m done. I mean, this is just brutal…

Why did you have to be so effing crazy? And I’m not just talking typical “I’m a female so I’m going to be just a bit off the reservation.” No no. You were a full 2, maybe 3, cans short of a 6-pack.

You were a friend of a friend (presumably, you still are), and were in town visiting for a long weekend. We kind of clicked from the get go, but unlike everyone else that Memorial Day, I had to work on the Monday…so left the final get together early, and missed out on the part where you made out with one of my friends, and then did substantially more with another (I try to keep this as family friendly as possible, so let it suffice to say that put the initials ‘T’ & ‘F’ together and you can figure it out).

So, I pretty much wrote you off. But two weeks later you were back in town, and all over me. It was tough to resist – you were a league or two above me in the looks department, extremely fun, and like I said, on me like white on rice. So, the opportunity presented itself, and I took you home. Little did I know, this meant we were now ‘together.’

Listen, I was then & still am now…all about building a potential relationship. I’ve never been the casual hookup guy, so trust me when I tell you I had no intention of hooking up with you that night, dropping you off the next morning, and then never talking to you again. I had every intention to maybe grabbing dinner that weekend, a few phone calls during the week, and seeing what happened. However, when driving you back to our mutual friend’s house the next morning, a certain song came on and we both loved it…to which you exclaimed (with not a hint of sarcasm), “THIS CAN BE OUR SONG!” You are lucky I didn’t drive off the road.

I should’ve been a man about it and put the kibosh on things right then and there…instead I was a different kind of man about it and told you that it was a great idea for you to come up the next weekend. I think the low-cut shirt you were wearing, in addition to your rather ample rack made it incredibly difficult for me to put a stop to it. Plus, its not like hot blondes are throwing themselves at me on a regular basis.

Anyway, do you remember going crazy on me at the bar the next week? When you said I wasn’t paying enough attention to you, and that I was still in love with Kara. I sure as shit do, and I was less than impressed. Then when we were trying to discuss the matter in a calm state, which I realize now is impossible with you, you told some stranger at the bar that I was “a ritard for not being interested in you.” She agreed and berated me. Thanks for that, Jo.

Of course when we got back to the house we were all crashing at that night you tried to make up for it by calling yourself “my girl” in front of everyone, and I’ll be honest…that didn’t help matters. We went to bed, and yada yada yada (we were drunk, did you expect me to not make out with you just because I was annoyed with you?), woke up and you claimed you couldn’t remember anything from the night before. And luckily, you had to rush back home for one reason or another.

Well, sometime between then and when you called me a few nights later, someone informed you about your behavior and you apologized. And while I accepted, I also told you it was probably a good idea for us to “cool off.” Then you swore at me, and I knew I made the right call…despite your “ample rack.”

Not to mention you’ve now tainted Bloc Party for me.

“Your Man”

ps – I am glad to hear you have settled down with a guy who can put up with you, because I don’t think you are a good person. I know it was all my fault anyway…I am extremely difficult to resist (HEAVY on the sarcasm).

I bet you never thought you’d end up on a blog like this, right? Where I waste all my time and hard-earned money reminiscing about females that for one reason or another, won’t give me the time of day. Well, thought it was probably a safe assumption on your part, I think we all know what happens when one assumes. No, they don’t make an “ass” out of “u” and “me,” because in no way does you ending up on this blog make you an ass, and it sure as shit doesn’t make me an ass. All it does is mean your assumption was wrong, I hate that effing saying.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to have watched you shine yet again yesterday. Even more fortunate – it was on bluray, on a high-def, 100+inch projection screen. Could it be possible that there was even more fortune involved…yes! There was good beer, good snacks, a few choice friends, and even some of that stuff that lots of people like in Vermont and it should be legalized, yet I digress. Bottom line is, it was about the 100th time I’ve watched you shout lines like, “I love the dark. But I hate nature, I HATE nature;” or, “Ok Brand, Michael Jackson didn’t come over to my house, to use the bathroom…but his sister did;” or even, “Hey Mikey this is great…all we have are old Chanukah decorations in our house.” (FYI, I did not copy and paste any part of those quotes, I knew them from memory…I can’t decide if this is a good thing or not). And you know what, dear friend, you grow on me more and more each time.

I think it’s because the older I get, the more complicated life becomes; and the shenanigans you and the rest of the Goonies get into simply remind me of a time when I didn’t care about things like health insurance, a career, or females. A time when I could get as much joy of making fun of my overweight friend as I could talking to a cute girl. Even yesterday, the friends I was with, well it was another guy and two girls. Both of us guys have some level of interest in one of the females we were with…but there was no tension, because we were watching a timeless classic about how effing sweet it is to be an innocent kid.

Maybe it’s all that…or maybe it’s just because seeing the “Truffle Shuffle” on the big screen was sweet.

Thanks man,

A fellow Jew

ps – If someone tries to get you to make “Goonies 2,” please say no. Thanks.

I just sent you a real email wishing you a happy birthday, and of course asking you to put in a good word for me at your place of employment. But I felt kind of bad that it’s been almost a decade, so I figured it was high time I send you one of these letters as well.

We met at camp, when I was 17 or so and had absolutely no clue had to read signs from females. That sentence implies that I do now…but rest assured I’m still sort of an assclown when it comes to that. We got close, but you made it painfully clear you weren’t interested in making out or anything along those lines by hooking up most of the summer with a red-head. Way to pour salt in the wound (just kidding, I have nothing against gingers…they do have souls). But then, on one of the last nights out I found myself alone with you, both inebriated, and you gave me the most backhanded compliment of all time.

You pretty much told me that you always liked me as a friend, but weren’t attracted to me…but the more you got to know me, the more attractive I became because as everyone knows, my personality sparkles. What I should’ve done was kiss you right then and there, instead of focusing on the beginning of your explanation, where I (still) think you called me ugly. In my mind, you basically compared me to George Costanza in this classic scene (effing youtube rules…can’t embed it, but go to the 51 second mark and you’ll catch my drift).

Thanks for comparing me to a short, stalky bald man.

It’s not as if I outwardly got angry at you for calling me unattractive, I was just kind of dumbfounded. What precisely, did you want me to do with this new information? Mind you, your ginger-boy was like 30 feet away, and even though it was just a ‘summer camp relationship,’ the two of you were still together, as much as you can be. So, instead of just going for some tongue action, I stalled and stammered out,

“I kind of want to kiss you right now…” To which you responded (with a small twinkle in your eye I might add), “You don’t need to ask my permission.”

At which point, of course, Ginger walked up to us. If “Old School” had already been made, I’m sure I would’ve said, “Good talk…see you out there.” But it hadn’t, and since I rarely speak in anything but movie quotes, I just stumbled away awkwardly and left you to explain.

So, in short…I regret not kissing you, but I can’t imagine the makeout session would’ve been worth pissing off a red-head.